


a long time, maybe the wrong time

by emlof



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-15 05:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlof/pseuds/emlof
Summary: He unwraps the pot with slow, unsteady hands, heart racing with fear and anticipation all at once; gently removes the stopper to reveal deep blue ink inside, so dark it’s almost black, tiny metallic flecks catching the moonlight.It’s beautiful, Kakashi thinks, watching transfixed as swirling patterns mirror the night sky. He pauses, brush clutched tight in one tiny hand. What do you write to a soulmate? How do you introduce yourself?





	1. i

Kakashi’s graduation to genin is unremarkable, apart from his age; still contains the expected lengthy speech from his academy teacher, propounding on the merits of the graduating class, cautioning them about the dangerous path they’ve chosen to walk and offering words of encouragement as they go forth into the world. 

“…And look around you – the people here today will become your closest friends, your rivals, your loved ones and even your soulmates – so take note of them, and know that as you walk forward into life they walk beside you…”

His teacher’s words wash over him, half-listened to. It’s a long-winded speech and despite his restlessness Kakashi does his best not to fidget, to show no sign of boredom – he’s a shinobi now, and a shinobi is capable of standing utterly motionless for hours on end. Even if it’s boring. 

His father’s gaze is heavy on his back, he can see the Hokage’s mouth pressed into a solemn line from the corner of his eye. Even if the Academy wants to maintain the façade of celebration, the war looms heavy over the heads of everyone gathered. Kakashi doesn’t move. 

(He does fall asleep on his father’s back on the way home; cheek squished up against stiff formalwear and his father’s hair scratching his neck – but they neither one acknowledge it, aside from a soft look in his father’s eye as he ruffles Kakashi’s hair.) 

 

When they get home, his father squats to look him in the eye and claps a hand on his shoulder, solid and reassuring. 

“You’ve done well, Kakashi,” he says, eyes sparkling and Kakashi feels heat on his face and resists the urge to look down. “Now that you’ve graduated I have something for you, but you have to be careful with it, ok? I’ll fetch it after dinner.”

He nods once, trying not to betray his excitement – he has an idea of what’s coming. An inkpot is a traditional graduation gift, after all. 

Dinner seems to stretch on for _ages,_ Kakashi trying and failing to hide impatience. He’s restlessly shoving vegetables across his plate, too excited to eat them, when there’s a quiet huff of breath across the table. 

Kakashi freezes, caught, and looks up at his father with wary eyes. But he doesn’t seem upset – just chuckles, smooth and low and the closest to a full-bodied laugh he ever really gets. 

“Alright, alright. I won’t keep you waiting,” his father says, ruffling Kakashi’s hair as he walks past him down the hall. Kakashi groans in mock protest – he’s a _genin_ now and too old to be babied like that – but smiles once he’s sure he’s far enough down the hall that his father won’t be able to see. 

He comes back after what seems like an eternity, something gently clasped in his hands. It’s small, resting easily in Kakashi’s palm when he reaches for it, and still slightly warm from his father’s touch. 

“Sorry to make you wait for it,” he says, eyes far away. “It’s been a long time, I wasn’t sure...”

Kakashi only half-hears, too focused on studying the bundle of deep blue fabric in his hands. A puff of dust as he unwraps it makes his eyes water, he blinks furiously and resolutely does not cough. 

The mess of fabric pulls away to reveal a tiny pot of ink and a delicate brush. Even though it’s what he was expecting, Kakashi’s eyes go wide, and he looks up to see his father watching him with a soft smile. 

“Congratulations, Kakashi. I hope they bring you a great deal of joy.” 

 

Later that night, in his darkened bedroom, Kakashi pulls the little package out again. It had felt wrong, somehow, to try to write with his father watching – fortunately, he’d seemed to understand, had just put his hand on Kakashi’s head again before disappearing to his study. If his hand had lingered for just a moment longer than usual, well. Kakashi hadn’t minded. 

Now, moonlight streaming in through his window, the atmosphere seems more appropriate. There’s a solemnity, an air of mystery that Kakashi likes. 

He unwraps the pot with slow, unsteady hands, heart racing with fear and anticipation all at once. He gently removes the stopper to reveal deep blue ink inside, so dark it’s almost black; tiny metallic flecks catching the moonlight. 

It’s beautiful, Kakashi thinks, watching transfixed as swirling patterns mirror the night sky. He pauses, brush clutched tight in one tiny hand. What do you write to a soulmate? How do you introduce yourself? 

He settles for a simple greeting, painting a hesitant “hello” on his forearm in his best handwriting. 

The ink begins to settle, and he can hear his pulse thundering in his ears. 

But—

The ink stays for a moment, suspended on his skin, then starts to blur. Strange, he thinks, cradling his wrist and bringing his arm closer to his face. In all the excited gossip around inkpots at the Academy he’d never once hear someone mention _this._

Under his watchful gaze the edges of his writing begin to run, and in the blink of an eye it’s a dripping mess, leaving swirling trails across his skin before disappearing entirely. 

Kakashi frowns. A problem with the ink, maybe? His father had said it had been years since he last used it – maybe it had separated? He replaces the stopper and gives the small pot a shake, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest.

But when he writes again, the same thing happens.

Kakashi’s stomach twists, _something’s wrong wrong it’s not right this is wrong_ and he’s glad, now, for his lack of an appetite at dinner. He quickly rewraps the ink and brush and shoves them under his bed, suddenly unable to look at them any longer. 

There must be a reason for it, he tells himself, his father will be able to explain in the morning. 

The thought doesn’t do anything to help his growing unease.

 

(In a dark room illuminated only by a sickly green light filtered through tanks of water, a boy without a name watches as a dark spot appears on his arm. He stops breathing for just a moment – is this it? Is this how it starts? Is he going to die? – but it seems benign; after a moment of being suspended over his skin it swirls up around him, an inky trail that leaves the water dirty and makes his eyes itch. 

A door creaks open – the man, coming downstairs – and when he sees the dirty water in the boy’s tank he seems amused or maybe curious, hums to himself and taps a finger over his mouth in contemplation.)

 

Despite his curiosity Kakashi can’t quite bring himself to ask his father the next morning – he’d looked so happy to give Kakashi this gift. (And, while he can’t quite admit it, if something really _is_ wrong, Kakashi isn’t sure he wants to know just yet.)

He doesn’t really get much of a chance, either way – Obito bursts in the front door halfway through breakfast without even knocking, Rin following far enough behind to at least give the illusion of manners. 

“Bakashi, come ON, you gotta show us! You must’ve got one for graduation, right? C’mon, don’t keep us waiting!” 

“Good morning, Mr. Sakumo,” Rin says, elbowing Obito as she catches up to him and leveling a pointed glare his way. “Sorry to disturb your breakfast.”

Kakashi lets out a quiet huff - at least Rin has the manners to offer an apology, even if Kakashi knows she isn't sorry in the least. 

“Yeah, sorry, g’morning, now hurry _up_ Kakashi, you gotta _show us_.”

Kakashi heaves an exaggerated sigh but sneaks a glance at his father out of the corner of his eye; his eyes are crinkled in the way that means he’s trying to stifle a laugh. 

“Fine, Obito, we can go up to my room,” Kakashi says, haughty, and Obito cheers, “but _stop_ yelling, alright? Don’t you think you’ve disturbed my father’s morning enough already?” 

Obito sticks his tongue out at Kakashi but he quiets down, so it counts as a win for now. 

 

Unwrapping the inkpot before an eager audience, Kakashi ignores the pang of anxiety at the thought of trying to write again. Surely what had happened the night before was just a fluke. It would be fine to show Rin and Obito. 

Obito is watching him intently, eyes wide with anticipation. Besides him, Rin leans forward ever so slightly, her own quiet excitement clear. Kakashi tries not to look at them as he dips the brush in ink and lifts it to his arm. 

He writes, scribbling a little picture of a dog near the crook of his elbow. There’s a flash of disappointment in Rin’s eyes as she subtly looks to her own elbow and sees nothing, but then her gaze flicks back to his arm and she gasps.

“Hey, hey, there’s something wrong with it! Kakashi, did you do it wrong?” Obito shouts before she can say anything.

Kakashi looks back to where he’d written and bites back a frustrated noise – just as it had last night, the ink is starting to blur, turning to droplets on his arm. 

“Of course I didn’t – it’s just writing, Obito, don’t be stupid,” he snaps. It’s harsher than intended, but Obito doesn’t seem to notice, falling easily into the familiar routine of argument. 

Rin interrupts their bickering before it can break out into a spar. “Maybe they’re taking a bath?” she suggests, ever positive. 

“Yeah, that must be it! You’re so smart, Rin,” Obito says, nodding emphatically.

Kakashi nods too, pretending to agree in the hope that they’ll move on. He can’t bring himself to tell Rin that she’s wrong, that this happened the day before as well. He’s not sure why he keeps it from them, only that he does. 

Curiosity satisfied, Rin and Obito quickly move on. Kakashi only half-listens as they argue about where to eat that afternoon – he still can’t quite shake the feeling of _wrongness_ lurking under his skin. 

 

 

Eventually, he works up the nerve to ask his father, who frowns, thinking — says that “well, sometimes it can be a hard thing for people to accept that they have a soulmate.” 

Kakashi frowns, too – who wouldn’t want to at least meet their soulmate? – but hesitantly accepts the conclusion, decides that maybe it’s for the best. He has missions, and training, he’s too busy to worry about the motivations of a soulmate who may or may not want to speak to him. They’ll have time.

Still, he doesn’t give up just yet. _Where are you?_ he wants to write, _why don’t you want to know me?_ But he never does, usually settling for a simple hello as he has in the past. When the ink inevitably turns watery and translucent before his eyes, sliding off his skin in the way he’s come to expect, Kakashi does his best not to be disappointed. 

But he can’t go on trying forever. 

 

(it happens a few more times, a splotch of dark liquid that’s diffused by the water within minutes. Once he gets used to the sting in his eyes, he almost looks forward to it. It feels safe, somehow, familiar although he doesn’t know why. But one day the ink stops appearing. It had probably been a test, he thinks, and dreads what that means for what might happen to him soon. It’s too bad. There’s nothing to distract him anymore.)

 

His father dies. 

Days later, Kakashi reaches for the brush but hesitates, hand awkwardly outstretched and hovering over the ink. 

There’s no indication that his soulmate, wherever they are, has any interest in talking to him. Why should they care? They’re probably better off not knowing. And who’s to say that, even if he did write them, they would be supportive? The rest of the village had turned their backs on the Hatakes, there’s nothing to say his soulmate wouldn’t do the same. 

He carefully rewraps the brush, puts the stopper back in the bottle. Packs away any lingering ideas of a soulmate, of ink on skin, and promises himself he won’t think about them any longer.

 

He keeps his resolve, mostly.

He doesn’t write when Obito dies (is killed; his fault), just comes home and bumps into the furniture in his new blind spot and curls up in the corner of his bed and doesn’t move until the funeral. 

He doesn’t write when Rin dies (when he kills her), just throws up in the sink and doesn’t sleep through the night for months. 

He kicks it further under his bed, then, so he won’t have to think about how, if his soulmate hadn’t wanted to speak to him before, they’ll want nothing to do with him now.

But then—

Kakashi is thirteen and the Kyuubi attacks and just when he thought he couldn’t lose anything more his entire world is ripped out from under him.

He stumbles home from Minato and Kushina’s funeral in a daze. Everything’s been moving in excruciating, unyielding slow motion for days, surreal wreckage that he can’t look away from, and for all that he’s been utterly frozen (motionless, powerless) he’s exhausted. A dull horror is settling under his skin, rising with the inevitability of a massive wave about to crash over his head. Something’s building, slow and inescapable and a long time coming, threatening to break open every last crack and fissure in his life, but he can’t find the energy do anything about it. 

He wakes up the next morning on the floor – even pulling back the covers and crawling into bed had seemed too much, somehow. When he can no longer ignore his uncomfortably empty stomach by staring blankly at the ceiling Kakashi finally rolls to his side to stand, and sees a flash of blue fabric beneath his bed.

He reaches for it without thinking, unwrapping the little writing set before he can think better of it – there’s just something in him that _needs_ to know, needs to know if there’s even one person remotely connected to him who’s still alive. Needs to know whether there’s one stable thing left for him or if they, too, have disappeared somewhere amidst the upheaval of his entire world. 

He takes one shaky breath and traces out a tentative question.

 

(Deep beneath Konoha, Kinoe wakes to the feeling of something brushing against his forearm, when he looks down he finds a plaintive question in messy, halting script. 

_Are you alive?_

He’s not sure what it’s meant to be, if it’s a threat. He shows it to Danzo the next morning, now slightly smudged — although part of him is tempted to keep it secret, safe and close to his chest — and Danzo furrows his brow, hastily wipes it off and walks Kinoe through the hand signs for a jutsu that leaves his skin buzzing. It’s training, Danzo says, an exercise in chakra control.) 

 

It’s days before Kakashi picks up the brush again, a week’s worth of debate over whether he should write or not. They hadn’t responded, before, but the message had remained on his skin for hours. Not exactly an agreement to talk – but not an immediate dismissal, either. His hand trembles, but he doesn’t hesitate as he paints across his skin.

 _Can I see you?_ he writes, before he can think better of it—

It doesn’t work. The brush is wet with ink and he can feel it slide across the skin – but no words appear. He may as well be writing with water.

Kakashi tries again, bordering on frantic even as the cold reality sinks in, a tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach, but still, nothing. 

In the past they’d wiped off any writing he sent, or not responded, but for the ink not to write at all—

They’re dead, then.

Dead, and he never even knew who they were. Some nameless person – _his_ person – had died, if not during the Kyuubi attack then likely as a result of it, and he hadn’t even known. They’d been _dying_ and he hadn’t been there for them.

One more thing that’s slipped through his fingers before he could understand how precious it was. Everything still feels unreal enough that it doesn’t hurt, not the way he thinks it should – there’s just a dull throbbing behind his eyes, an unpleasant twist in his stomach.

He didn’t know them, and they obviously had no interest in knowing him, but it stings all the same, the knowledge that he’d had someone and now they’re _gone_. 

They’d been something steady, even in their unwillingness to acknowledge him. 

He carefully rewraps the inkpot in the same deep blue cloth it had been wrapped in all those years ago, when his father first gave it to him; cleans the brush and slides it into the package. He doesn’t throw it carelessly under his bed, this time. It would be disrespectful to treat it so callously, this last connection to the nameless person he was supposed to be meant for.

He puts it next to his bed instead, beside the picture of his team – another memorial.

 

(Kinoe adds it to his daily routine, hand signs like clockwork before his first shift each morning. If he sometimes leaves it off, well, Danzo doesn’t need to know that. And it doesn’t matter, anyways – he never sees the strange writing again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah yeah i gotta finish my other stuff but i posted this gloomy concept on twitter and became possessed. title is from a tigers jaw song i think.


	2. ii

The tiny figure before him should be seen as a threat, he knows. But the jutsu he’d used – it’s mokuton, Kakashi is sure of it, supposedly lost long ago. It will almost certainly be valuable to the village someday. 

And besides, there’s something about him that feels – trustworthy, somehow. 

Kakashi can’t explain it, would probably get a harsh reprimand if he told any of his seniors in ANBU that he’d let a potentially hostile Foundation operative go based on a _feeling,_ but he tears the boy’s mask off and knows, as sure as he is of the chakra flowing through him, that this person won’t do him harm. 

As he watches the boy dart off into the woods Kakashi can’t help but think that he’s small, too small to be doing this job. His eyes had been so wide, so young – what was he doing somewhere like Root? Kakashi may not be that much older but there’s something about this mysterious boy that he wants to protect.

He interrogates himself harshly, after that, spends an anxious week wondering whether his instinctive trust is going to get someone killed – but the expected disaster doesn’t come, and Kakashi starts breathing easier again. 

There are some people he can still have faith in after all, and if it’s strange that he trusts a total stranger as much as people he’s known his entire life – he tries not to think about it too much.

 

They rarely meet – once in a massive, hollowed-out tree where Kakashi learns his name is Kinoe, a few times when they pass each other on missions, once when he’s sure he feels Kinoe’s chakra at the training grounds before it flickers into nothingness – but each time Kakashi can’t explain the vague sense of trust he feels, even when it’s clear he should know better. Still, they hardly see each other, and it’s easy enough to put Kinoe out of his mind. 

 

In the end, it takes a mission, straight from the Hokage’s desk, for things to change. 

Orochimaru’s hideout is deep in the woods, accessible only through a tiny hole in the ground. It’s a wonder anyone managed to find it, Kakashi thinks, dropping silently below the surface. After a moment’s hesitation, he presses forward.

He’s expecting to face whatever horrors await him inside entirely alone, so it’s almost a relief when Kinoe appears. 

Almost. 

He’s older, now, and Kakashi blinks in disbelief, taken aback by how quickly he’s grown. He still has the same trustworthy air about him, but something seems – off, somehow. He holds himself differently, more reserved than in past meetings, and he won’t speak anything concrete about his mission. He seems tense. 

Or maybe Kakashi is just projecting. It’s been years, after all, and he’s only grown more cynical. Maybe he’s the suspicious one, he thinks, a wry twist to his mouth under the mask. Why should Kinoe tell him anything? They barely know each other. 

Still, it’s reassuring to have someone with him as he moves deeper into the lab.

 

(“Bring me his eye,” Danzo says, and Kinoe bows, looking at the floor a moment longer than he usually would. By the time he stands straight, his face is blank again, the way it should be. 

He passes off his unease as not wanting to return to Orochimaru’s lab, at first – he understands, now, where he’d come from, and even though he’s supposed to have given up his emotions for the Foundation the anxiety slithers back, bone-deep. 

And the lab is just as awful as he’d thought it would be – he has to brace himself against a workbench while Kakashi investigates, to hide the way his legs shake. Every rustle, every faint unidentified sound at the edge of his hearing is a snake, back to watch him with their beady eyes the way they had when he was a child; it takes every ounce of his self-control to stop from looking over his shoulder every thirty seconds.

But the more time he spends with Kakashi, the closer he gets to fulfilling his _real_ mission – it gets harder to ignore that the location isn’t the only thing making him sick to his stomach.)

 

He wasn’t projecting – Kinoe really is tense. But Kakashi can’t figure out why. It could be the lab – there’s some history with Orochimaru, he thinks, although he doesn’t know the specifics and isn’t sure he wants to. 

That doesn’t quite explain why Kinoe won’t quite look him in the eye, though, or why he hasn’t yet offered up one of his tiny, shy smiles. 

No, Kakashi can’t quite put his finger on why that might be, not until Kinoe’s kunai is slicing through his shoulder.

It’s funny, he thinks absently, letting instinct guide him through the fight. He can barely feel his shoulder – for some reason it’s his heart that hurts the most. 

 

(It feels _wrong_ to be fighting Kakashi, to be trying to kill him. And not just because of Kinoe’s sudden questioning about the validity of the mission – no, it’s something deeper. 

When he calls Kakashi a friend-killer, tells him that he knows about Rin, he feels sick at the hurt that flashes across Kakashi’s face. It’s everything Kinoe can do to keep fighting when every instinct is screaming that this _isn’t right,_ that he needs to protect Kakashi, not harm him. When Kakashi finally does pin him to the ground, Kinoe is almost relieved.)

 

They fight each other, and then, when one of Orochimaru’s horrible experiments turns up, they fight together, and when it’s all over Kakashi can feel the effects of poison gas in his lungs, the slow, burning spread of it as he starts to pass out. He should be fighting it harder, he knows, should be trying to get away from Kinoe, who moments ago was genuinely trying to kill him. 

Instead, Kakashi’s last conscious thought is an unwavering certainty that he won’t be harmed. 

There’s no logic to it, and when he wakes with his eye still intact Kakashi is angry, almost, berating himself for being so trusting and Kinoe for risking his mission and probably his life for Kakashi’s sake. It’s an unfamiliar whirlwind of emotions, and he finds himself getting more and more worked up as he makes his way back to Konoha at a breakneck pace.

And oh, he finally realizes, he’s worried. Anxious for Kinoe, for his safety, certain he’s in danger. 

The swell of emotions doesn’t lift even as he makes a panicked, unprofessional plea to the Hokage, or when he finds his feet turning towards the Foundation’s headquarters against his better judgement. 

No, it’s not until he sees Kinoe, dazed but unharmed, that his pulse stops racing. Not until they leave the tense standoff between Danzo and the Hokage that the knot in Kakashi’s chest loosens and he can breathe again. 

Strange, he thinks, that he still trusts Kinoe so deeply, strange how relieved he is to find his instincts have been right after all this time. And strange, too, how the Hokage looks at him so softly, like he’s just realized some quiet secret.

 

(“You’ve gone by Tenzō in the past, right? So that should be your name, here,” Kakashi says, and Tenzō wonders if he should argue, if he should push to keep Kinoe or even come up with a name for himself. 

He doesn’t, in the end. It feels right, somehow, that Kakashi should give him this.)

 

“I said some horrible things to you,” Tenzō murmurs, eyes firmly on the ground. He’s come to an abrupt halt in the middle of Kakashi’s tour of the ANBU barracks.

Kakashi hums, uncomfortable with the silence. “It’s alright. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

He’s aiming for comforting, but if anything Tenzō looks even more upset. The Foundation trained him well – there’s no tell so obvious as a clenched fist or a furrowed brow. But Kakashi is well-trained too, and the slight tightening around Tenzō’s eyes, the way his next breath is a fraction of a second too soon – it’s enough. 

“Still. I’m sorry,” he says, stiffly.

“Really, Tenzō, it’s fine. I’m just—I’m glad you’re safe. That’s what’s important.” 

Tenzō does frown at that, just a bit, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Nothing’s changed, alright? We’re still friends,” Kakashi continues, suddenly unsure, “I mean. If—if that’s something you want.”

Finally, _finally_ Tenzo looks up at him, making eye contact for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“Really? That would really be ok?” He’s back to looking young, now, and painfully uncertain. 

“Really. Friends?” Kakashi sticks his hand out, expectant. 

Tenzō takes it, eyes darting between Kakashi’s hand and face as if he expects the offer to be retracted at any moment. “Yeah. Friends,” he says, hesitant even as they shake on it.

Kakashi nods and goes to continue the tour, only stopping when he realizes Tenzō is still rooted to the floor, staring after him with disbelief.

“Alright, Tenzō?” Kakashi’s voice seems to bring him back from wherever his mind had wandered to; Tenzō shakes his head as if to clear it before starting to follow him again. 

They’ve been walking for some time before he speaks. “Thanks, senpai,” he breathes, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and this time Kakashi is the one stopping in his tracks.

 

Tenzō doesn’t say much about his former position – he can’t, not with Danzo’s curse seal still looming – but Kakashi gets the sense that working under the Hokage’s direct command comes with something of a culture shock. Tenzō barely speaks to anyone in those first tentative weeks, instead watching the casual, relaxed teasing of off-duty ANBU carefully and sticking to Kakashi’s side like glue.

But Yūgao calls him Kakashi’s little shadow and teases him about “seriously ruining their betting pool on who the next recruit would be,” which gets her a small, tentative smile, and slowly, surely, the ice melts. 

There are still people who find his long, carefully neutral stare unnerving, but Team Ro, at least, is a cohesive unit. (It’s a cohesion formed, much to Kakashi’s dismay, primarily by teaming up in attempts to unmask or otherwise inconvenience _him_ – although when he hears Tenzō genuinely _laugh_ for the first time, soft and melodic from across the break room, any lingering consternation all but evaporates.) 

Within a few months most of the force has forgotten about Tenzō’s unconventional entry – or at least moved on to fresher gossip. 

They’re being shuffled around the barracks in what feels like an endless series of reorganizations when Kakashi feels something slip from his hastily-packed bundle of belongings. 

"What’s this?” Tenzō picks up a small object wrapped in blue fabric, tugging at the cloth that’s surrounded it all these years, and Kakashi tenses instantly, has to resist the sudden urge to call out for Tenzō to stop, to leave it alone. 

His quick inhalation hadn’t been as quiet as he thought; Tenzō turns immediately, hands stilling over the package. 

“S— sorry, senpai, I didn’t realize—“

Kakashi lets out a slow breath, forces his shoulders down to a more relaxed position. “No, it’s fine, Tenzō. it’s nothing. Just an old ink pot, nothing special.” A lie. He remembers all too well the ink shimmering in the moonlight on that first, terrible night – like magic.

“An ink pot?” Tenzō’s eyes go wide. “A real one? I’ve read about them, but I’ve never seen one in real life. I was almost starting to wonder if they were just a legend.” 

Tenzō’s awe melts away his prickly defensiveness and Kakashi smiles, pointedly ignoring the stab of regret as he eagerly unwraps it. 

“Mm, that’s right, you probably wouldn’t have. Most ANBU don’t use them very often, just to be safe. Have you ever tried one?” 

Wide-eyed, Tenzō shakes his head no. 

“Take it, then,” Kakashi says, clapping his hand on Tenzō’s shoulder with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “Clearly it hasn’t seen much use in my hands, just look at all that dust.” 

“Are you… sure?” Tenzō stammers, hesitant. “What if you need it?” 

“I won’t,” Kakashi says, thinking of ink sliding off his skin and a brush that wouldn’t write. He tries to keep his tone casual but finds his throat is unexpectedly tight. 

Tenzō seems to pick up the delicate topic, accepting the jar without further protest. Kakashi turns away before he can see anything like emotion in his visible eye.

“You should try it out, Tenzō. You never know — someone could be waiting for you out there. You know the basics of how it works, right?” 

He glances back, looking for a nod, only to see that Tenzō has gone stock-still, face pale in the harsh lighting of the hallway. 

“Oh, _no_ ,” he starts, voice high and breathy, “senpai— while I was in Root — there was— somebody— there were _words_ only I didn’t—"

“Hey,” Kakashi starts, tightening his grip on Tenzō’s shoulders in a way he hopes is reassuring, “breathe. Slow down. You think someone wrote to you?” Tenzō nods, still pale.

“Danzo-sama said it was dangerous, so…” he trails off, and Kakashi feels his stomach drop.

“So..? What did he do, Tenzō?” Kakashi coaxes out an answer he’s not sure he wants to hear, hoping the tension in his voice isn’t too obvious.

“He… showed me how to channel chakra, to keep the ink off my skin,” Tenzō forces out, clearly shaken with the sudden realization. His eyes are wide and a little watery and Kakashi feels a renewed wave of anger coursing white-hot through his veins. Tenzō sucks in a sharp breath, head coming up with a sudden jerk. “Kakashi, they must think I— they must _hate_ me.” 

“No, Tenzō. No— they wouldn’t. I’m sure they’ll be glad to meet you. They’ll be glad you’re alright. And if they’re not – well, they don’t know what they’re missing.” 

“You think so?” Tenzō is still looking at the jar as if it could explode at any moment, and Kakashi aches for him, for the mix of fear and doubt and hope playing out across his face.

(And somewhere deeper, buried, he aches for himself, mourns for his own lost time, his own missed chances.)

“I know so,” Kakashi says, although he can’t quite meet Tenzō’s eyes. “Now go, get out of here. Find somewhere quiet; you don’t want to talk to your soulmate for the first time in this grimy old room, do you?”

Tenzō’s smile is faint as Kakashi shoos him away, but it’s genuine, and Kakashi thinks it looks more hopeful than fearful.

 

Once he’s sure Tenzō is safely gone, Kakashi leaves, too; inevitably ending up at the memorial stone. By now, he knows the timeline of names by heart; can pinpoint the first death of the Kyuubi attack as well as the last, several weeks later. Hundreds of names. 

He reads each one, wondering which chiseled piece of stone holds the name he’s looking for. Surely his _soulmate_ should feel different, somehow, surely their name should spark _something._ Would he feel it, if he looked at it the right way, traced the characters with the tip of his finger? Would he know? 

The answer is no, of course – he’s already tried. But it doesn’t stop Kakashi from reading the names over and over again in the moonlight, wishing the stone could give him some closure. 

There’s no point, he admits to himself as he falls onto his back. They’re dead, gone, he’ll never know. It’s no good to dwell on the past, he tells himself, scowling up at the stars. He should be excited for Tenzō, not wallowing in his own well-trodden melancholy. 

Because Tenzō – he deserves it. Needs it, even. His life has been so unstable, already; a steady, reliable soulmate, someone who can be there for him unconditionally would do Tenzō a world of good. Kakashi has tried to help, tried to be a friend as Tenzō readjusts to the world, but a soulmate – that would be different. Better, probably. 

He’s happy for Tenzō, he really is. But, staring up at the night sky, he still finds himself blinking away the moisture at the corners of his eyes.

 

(For a long time, Tenzō just sits, staring at the bundle in his hands until he builds up the courage to unscrew the cap. Kakashi had lied, before – the ink is beautiful, maybe the most special thing he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t know what to say. A simple greeting? It seems like an apology is in order – but is that where he should start? He isn’t sure, is stuck, frozen on the first question before the real test has even started.

After what feels like hours he finally works up the nerve to write something. The wet ink is cool on his skin in the night air as he traces out his message. 

_Hello,_ he starts. _I’m sorry it’s taken me so long._

He stops, after that, unsure of what to say – or if he should say anything more at all. The ink is a deep blue in the moonlight, a sharp contrast to his own skin as it slowly dries. His heart is practically beating out of his chest. He holds his breath.

There’s a faint pressure on his skin, a barely-there phantom touch, and then—

His writing is rubbed away. The ink leaves streaks on his arm as his carefully-written words are erased from existence. 

Well. He’d known it was a possibility, that they wouldn’t want to talk. Still, Tenzō can’t quite prevent the prickling at the back of his eyes as he falls back with a huff to stare at the sky.)

 

Lost in thought, Kakashi barely notices the faint tickling sensation on his forearm, just below the crook of his elbow – he scratches at it absently and wonders, in the morning, where the dirt beneath his fingernails had come from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "em can you not just let them live" no. absolutely no.


	3. iii

Tenzō comes back early the next morning, and it only takes one look at him for Kakashi to know things hadn’t gone well. There are deep shadows under his eyes, and he doesn’t make eye contact as he slips back into their room. His shoulders are hunched and he looks exhausted, and very small.

Kakashi feels about as awful as Tenzō looks – he’d woken up to dew on the grass and on him and had slunk back to the barracks just before dawn, damp and chilled to the bone in a way that made him ache. 

For a few moments he debates whether or not he should say something, but when he hears a quiet, hitching breath from the bottom bunk he decides it’s probably best to leave some space, for now. He leaves – Gai must be up, by now, and a ridiculous challenge will take his mind off things, if nothing else. 

 

When Kakashi gets back, sweaty and exhausted and feeling marginally more human, Tenzō is still curled up under a blanket, his back to the door. He doesn’t respond to Kakashi’s soft greeting. Kakashi looks at the clock – they have to prepare for a mission soon; neither of them can afford to be so preoccupied.

“Hey, Tenzō,” he murmurs. 

There’s no response.

“They didn’t want to talk, huh?” he says, a little stilted, perching awkwardly at the end of Tenzō’s bed. 

Tenzō, still staring unblinking at the wall, doesn’t say anything, and Kakashi is reminded again of how young he is. 

Kakashi hesitates. It’s been a long time since he talked to anyone about his own soulmate, and he’s never been particularly good at offering comfort, but—

“It was like that for me, too,” he admits, almost before he can decide whether or not he wants to. 

That does get a reaction – Tenzō turns his head, just barely. Kakashi waits. 

“Really?” Tenzō’s voice is scratchy, from disuse or crying, Kakashi can’t tell. He’s just relieved to get a response, and hums his assent.

“What changed? For them to write back, I mean. Did you have to wait very long?” 

This is unfamiliar territory, uncomfortable. Kakashi kicks himself – he should have come up with some other example; his own story isn’t exactly a model of success.

But it’s better to tell him the truth, right? “They—they never did,” he says haltingly, looking away.

“Oh.” And they’re back to not making eye contact. 

Kakashi doesn’t know what to do, now. Would the Hokage consider rescinding his promotion to captain, if he asked very nicely? He’s not cut out for this, has never been able to handle his own emotions, let alone someone else’s. He scrambles for something to say. 

“But things were different then,” he eventually settles on, “there was a war on. They might just need some time.” 

Tenzō looks doubtful. It’s a fair response – Kakashi remembers how skeptical he had been of his father’s attempts to explain away the lack of response from his own soulmate, each one growing more unconvincing as the months went by. He sighs. 

“I won’t make you get up if you don’t want to yet. But you should eat something before we leave, yeah? Get breakfast with me?” For a split second he fears that Tenzō won’t respond; he really would be out of options then. But he does get up, finally, giving Kakashi an attempt at a smile that winds up looking more like a grimace. 

“Okay,” Tenzō says. He’s still pale, and the dull light filtering into the room makes the shadows under his eyes look even more harsh than they already are. He looks devastated, Kakashi thinks, and alone. (Is that what he had looked like, too, back when he thought he was hiding everything so well?)

It must be something out of a memory that compels him – some half-forgotten instant like the first time Kushina wrapped him into a crushing hug, he’d had to fight back unexpected tears pooling in Obito’s eye – because Kakashi moves without thinking, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Tenzō’s small frame before he can think better of it. 

“I’m sorry, Tenzō,” he whispers, throat tight. “I really wanted it to be different, for you.” 

There’s a moment in which Tenzō is absolutely still, stiff and frozen against Kakashi’s chest, and Kakashi wonders if he’s made things worse – but then all the air seems to go out of him in a single rush. There’s a quiet sniff from where Tenzō’s face has been pressed against his shoulder. 

“Don’t give up just yet, alright?” Kakashi says. (Don’t make the same mistakes as me, he wants to say, but can’t find the courage.)

Tenzō doesn’t say anything.

Kakashi can’t say how long they stand there, Tenzō taking shaky breaths that leave the collar of his shirt damp. It’s an awkward hug – a terrible one, he’s pretty sure, all uncomfortable angles and his arms in the wrong places and not even close to the way he remembers a hug _should_ be – but Tenzō’s breathing gradually evens out, and he isn’t trembling quite so badly when Kakashi tentatively pats him on the shoulder. 

“Better?” he asks, and Tenzō nods.

“You smell horrible, senpai,” he says, weakly, into Kakashi’s shoulder. 

“Oh? What was that? You want to run ten extra laps around the village today? Very diligent, Tenzō,” Kakashi replies, and when Tenzō elbows him in the stomach something wound tight around his ribcage loosens, if only a fraction. 

 

(They never talk about it. Part of it is that Tenzō is embarrassed – almost crying in front of his team captain, and he’s supposed to be an elite shinobi, _honestly_ – but even more than that, he can’t stop thinking about the hurt in Kakashi’s voice, so raw and painful it couldn’t be disguised, even as he’d tried to offer some comfort. 

If thinking of his soulmate hurts him that much – well. Tenzō doesn’t want to be the one who brings them up. 

He knows Kakashi wants him to try again, but he can’t bear to, not after that first crushing failure. The inkpot stays on his desk, wrapped as carefully as when Kakashi first gave it to him, and he sees Kakashi looking at it sometimes, deep in thought. 

“I think they died,” Yūgao says, when Tenzō finally works up the nerve to ask. “He’s never said anything about it, but I think he lost them in the Kyuubi attack. A lot of people did.”

“Oh,” Tenzō stammers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t bring it up again – but he doesn’t write, either.)

 

Tenzō says he tries to write to them, even if Kakashi is almost certain that he’s lying. And he can’t blame him, really. For all his Root training, Tenzō is still young and wants, more than anything, Kakashi thinks, a chance to be happy. Deserves it. After as much hurt as he’s been through, of course Tenzō would want to shield his fragile heart from this one enduring disappointment. Kakashi doesn’t press him.

And it’s easy not to talk about it. Neither of them is particularly interested in broaching that field of conversation, with all its traps and pitfalls, so for years, they just don’t. 

Team Ro trains, runs missions, eats together, trains again. Itachi enters their orbit, if only briefly, and exits it violently, and they grieve together, for a while, until the Hokage calls them back into service. It’s a familiar cycle, if not an easy one. Kakashi can lose himself in it, and he does. 

He doesn’t feel like he’s changing, not much. But Tenzō – he grows up, somewhere in the middle of everything. 

It’s after a monthlong solo mission that Kakashi looks at him, _really_ looks at him, laughing with Yūgao across the training field and realizes with a start that he hardly resembles tiny, wide-eyed Kinoe. He’s older, now, and not so small anymore – he might be taller than Kakashi, although he’s still all awkward, lanky limbs. His laugh is freer, now, and it comes more often. 

When had that happened, Kakashi wonders – while he was gone? Overnight, somehow? Or had it been happening all along, while he wasn’t paying attention?

He brings it up, later, and Yūgao laughs at him. 

“You did the same thing, you know. Worried he’ll catch up to you?” she chuckles into her dinner, and Kakashi shrugs.

“Something like that.” She snorts, rolls her eyes at him. 

“I’d say he already has. Honestly, Kakashi, you’re what, two years older than him? Three? It was bound to happen eventually.” She turns away, drawn into some other, more interesting conversation, and leaves Kakashi alone with his thoughts. 

 

He _is_ taller – Kakashi checks. And Tenzō brings it up, too, when he asks Kakashi to spar with him later that week. 

“My hits keep ending up—wrong, somehow,” he says, frowning. “Yūgao said she couldn’t help me because she’s short.” 

She’s not that short, Kakashi knows, and probably could have helped Tenzō train just fine, but Kakashi is glad she said no. It’s been ages since the two of them sparred, too long. 

Kakashi can see what he means, though. Tenzō keeps throwing himself off-balance, leaning too far one way or not bracing hard enough on an impact. The best way to help, Kakashi figures, is to call out every time he sees an error – which is effective primarily in that in annoys Tenzō so much that he picks up on the corrections even faster than usual out of spite. By the time the sun is directly overhead, Tenzō is ready for a real spar.

“Taijutsu only? Or anything goes?” 

“Taijutsu,” Tenzō replies, without hesitation. He must really want to punch him, Kakashi muses. He supposes it’s only fair, after the morning’s abuse.

It’s a rough, dirty fight – Tenzō isn’t holding back, now that he’s feeling more confident, and Kakashi doesn’t either. He tries to get some banter in because he knows it irritates Tenzō that he can carry out a conversation while they’re sparring, but the pace is too fast; he has to focus everything on the fight. 

It’s _fun,_ fighting like this. The air is charged, like a summer storm could roll in at any moment even though the skies are clear. Tenzō has always been strong, and without the size difference they’re on a more even playing field. It’s only thanks to a few still-imperfect swings from Tenzō (and one particularly useful evasion that Kakashi will _never_ admit he stole from Gai) that he avoids getting knocked out. 

By the time they’re done, he can feel several new bruises forming along his side, and Tenzō looks equally worn out. 

They both collapse against a tree, sweaty and exhausted.

“Good fight, Tenzō. You picked that up fast,” Kakashi huffs, still catching his breath. It would be embarrassing if Tenzō wasn’t just as winded. 

“Thanks, senpai.” He grins, lazy and content, and Kakashi’s breath catches for a moment at how _light_ it is. He forces his gaze up towards the sky before Tenzō can catch him staring and wonders, again, how he’d missed this seismic tilt. 

Staring upwards as his pulse starts to slow, Kakashi can feel himself nodding off. Everything is sleepy and relaxed in the way only the summer sun in late afternoon can be; he drifts asleep to the sound of Tenzō’s steady breathing next to him. 

 

When he wakes up, it’s to the setting sun in his eyes and a warm weight in his lap. He looks down, frozen for a moment – it’s Tenzō, still sound asleep. 

Suddenly, the only thing that matters is that he stays completely and totally still. Kakashi is hyper-aware of his every movement, of the heat of Tenzō’s body against his. Tenzō’s breath is hot on his leg where it’s being used as a pillow. Suddenly it’s the only thing he can feel, warmth, from the sun and from the body pressed against his, almost too much to bear.

He shifts slowly, careful not to jostle Tenzō too much, and unthinkingly rests a hand on his head, tugging off his glove when it catches in Tenzō’s hair. His leg is starting to fall asleep, but he doesn’t dare try to move it.

Kakashi can’t figure it out – it’s not as if this is the first time he’s seen Tenzō asleep; they’ve spent many nights in the field, huddled together under thin blankets, taking turns nodding off against one another’s shoulders. But this—

The scope of the world narrows, shifts, until the only things that register are the rise and fall of Tenzō’s shoulders with slow, easy breaths, and the feeling of his hair as it runs through Kakashi’s fingers. 

Time slows and Kakashi isn’t sure how long he sits there, utterly lost in Tenzō’s quiet – just that it’s the most at peace he’s felt in a long time. 

When Tenzō finally starts to stir he reluctantly pulls his hand away, but he can’t bring himself to move – anything for the unexpected tranquility to last even a moment longer. Even when Tenzō is fully awake and offering flustered apologies, the warmth still lingers. More than usual, Kakashi is grateful for his mask, and the way it hides the confused blush creeping across his face.

 

(Tenzō is still half-asleep when he feels fingers carding through his hair, slow and gentle. They feel right, somehow, and as he drifts back into unconsciousness he wonders if maybe it’s his soulmate, come to find him at last. But when he wakes up it’s just Kakashi, wide-eyed and a little dazed for some reason Tenzō can’t quite figure out.)

 

Kakashi can’t look away, after that. It’s as if he’s been drawn into Tenzō’s orbit, even more than before; it feels warm just to be near him. 

But even if Tenzō isn’t ready to reach out to his soulmate yet, Kakashi wants that happiness for him, wants to know that someone, at least, can find it. Tenzō deserves that, even if it means Kakashi has to push whatever this may be aside.

Still, it’s hard to stop himself from feeling anything; hard to tear his gaze away from Tenzō when he smiles, broad and warm, or when he stretches and a sliver of skin peeks out from under his uniform, or—

Well. It’s hard to stop staring at all, really.

 

Iwagakure kidnaps a child, and Team Ro is dispatched to track them down before they can reach the border. She’s the soulmate of the Daimyō’s nephew, and she is three years old. 

Tenzō is quiet throughout the mission, more so than usual. Even after they’ve safely recovered the girl and returned her, frightened but unharmed, to the palace, he sits staring into the fire, deep in thought. 

Kakashi gingerly takes a seat next to him. “Alright, Tenzō?”

“Does it bother you?” he asks instead of answering. 

Kakashi frowns. “Does what bother me?” 

Tenzō sighs, one long, steady exhale. The firelight playing across his face makes the bags under his eyes look deeper; he looks tired. 

Kakashi isn’t sure how long they sit in silence before Tenzō finds the words. The fire crackles and shoots off embers, smoke drifting lazily upwards. He can hear Yūgao moving around the edge of the camp, setting up traps. There’s the occasional snap of a twig, some animal passing by in the night, but otherwise the woods are quiet, any sound deadened by the foliage and the thick layer of needles on the ground. So it’s easy to hear the way Tenzō inhales as if he’s about to speak, then holds his breath, then sighs, like he’s frustrated to have lost the sentence after all. Then—

“This whole time, all I could think was – they’re so young. They’re just _kids,_ Kakashi, but her whole life has been upended just because of who her soulmate is. What if she doesn’t want that?”

Sensing that Tenzō isn’t done, that he’s still reaching for something, Kakashi just hums.

“It just seems cruel,” Tenzō says, so soft Kakashi can hardly hear him. “Having a soulmate. Like the universe could just decide that for you. Like something that you choose for yourself, that you work at – like that’s less. Like it doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, isn’t sure he understands what Tenzō’s getting at.

“Maybe I don’t want a soulmate, you know? Why should I be _grateful_ for someone who’s ignored me all this time? What, they’re going to walk into the room someday and I’m going to forget about everyone else, and anyone I’ve ever cared about will fall away? I don’t want that.” 

Tenzō looks up, shy, through his bangs – when did they get so long, Kakashi wonders, and when did he start noticing the length of Tenzō’s hair? – and Kakashi finds himself speechless, still reeling from Tenzō’s sudden declaration, still unsure where it’s going.

“It’s not _fair,”_ he continues, and the mourning in his voice feels almost too familiar, like watching someone else pick up a beloved childhood toy. “Maybe your soulmate is supposed to make you feel better than anything, but – that means the opposite can be true, too.” 

Kakashi’s breath catches in his throat. 

“I’m just saying—just, it seems like a lot of people put a lot of importance behind their soulmates, and other people’s, too. I know you do. And that’s okay. But—I’m not going to. That’s what I’ve decided. I’m not going to let that decide anything, anymore, I’m walking away. That’s all.” He looks a little surprised as he finishes talking, as if this is the first time he’s admitted it even to himself. 

“Oh,” Kakashi says, and without moving an inch the world spins away beneath him; the only thing that registers is an overwhelming sensation of vertigo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways i played myself we're gonna need another chapter


	4. iv

“Kakashi,” the Hokage says, ignoring the fact that he’s on duty and should really only be addressed as Hound, even if the two of them are alone, “I think you should consider taking on a genin team.”

Kakashi eyes him warily. Sarutobi has always had a peculiar sense of humor, and he’s hard to read – but this sounds like something that must be a joke.

Sarutobi doesn’t blink, just stares at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Kakashi sighs. “A jounin cannot serve as a genin team leader while in the ANBU, Hokage-sama.”

“Ah,” Sarutobi says, as if Kakashi has uncovered a great flaw in his plan – but there’s a self-satisfied twist to his mouth as he continues. “Well, I suppose you’ll just need to step down from your post, then.”

Kakashi’s stomach drops. “Is there—are you unsatisfied with my performance?”

“On the contrary—” Sarutobi waves his hand as if to clear the air, “your record has been exemplary, one of the longest-serving and most dependable captains the force has ever seen.”

“Then why—”

“I won’t force you to walk away, Kakashi,” Sarutobi says, cutting him off. “But perhaps a change of pace? You’ve been a valuable asset to the force, but—well, I think you could do a lot of good in this role, too.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, is briefly grateful that his face is hidden behind the ANBU mask.

Sarutobi must sense his confusion, because he speaks again. “You don’t need to make a decision right now, Kakashi. All I’m asking is that you consider it.”

At that, Kakashi nods – he can consider it, at least, even he does dismiss the idea in the end. It will be easy enough to shrug off the Hokage’s inquiry the next time he finds himself on this rotation. All he has to do is say no.

The thing is - he says yes.

 

(Kakashi leaves ANBU. He’s to be a jounin teacher, they learn, and Yugaō laughs and laughs at the idea of their stoic captain confronted with a twelve-year-old. He’s still in Konoha, of course, is probably more accessible than he’s ever been – but he’s gone.

Tenzō is quietly relieved. He’s been worried about the shadows in Kakashi’s eyes and the way he’s been smiling less, the way he eats by himself and goes straight back to his captain’s quarters to sleep for hours on end as soon as they get back from a mission. They’ve had a nasty string of them lately, long and bleak and _hard._ Kakashi has ended up in the hospital for chakra exhaustion more than he should, has put himself in risky situations to protect a teammate one too many times for comfort.

Something’s wrong, and Tenzō’s not sure if he can fix it. He’s not sure it _can_ be fixed, not while Kakashi is in ANBU.

So hearing he’ll be leading a genin team – Tenzō feels a little set adrift to think of serving without him, but he can’t begrudge Kakashi for walking away.

He moves out of the barracks, of course, and that, too, is strange. They’ve lived together, or at least almost together, for nearly a third of Tenzō’s life. It’s hard to imagine not being able to turn a corner and find Kakashi, ready to spar or go over the logistics for a mission. Hard to imagine doing anything without Kakashi, who has been by his side for so long now.

Anko tells him he’s being ridiculous, when he tries to voice some of these concerns; says that if he wants to go see Kakashi he should just go see him.

But Tenzō can’t quite bring himself to do it – Kakashi had walked away from ANBU for a reason. He needed to get out of that shadow, and Tenzō doesn’t want to be the one to cast it again.)

 

Kakashi’s apartment is little more than a box with a bed – he’s been living in ANBU barracks for so long that he hardly remembers what it was like to have a place of his own, much less how to furnish one.

It’s not like he can’t just go out and buy furniture – after years of earning ANBU-level pay with nothing to spend it on, he’s not exactly wanting for funds. And Gai, still excited at the prospect of his friend back in the world, would be more than happy to help him; he’d probably even put all the furniture together.

But there’s so much empty space – he doesn’t know where to start.

Not for the first time, he finds himself staring at the ceiling wondering if it would have been better to move back to the Hatake compound; it might be falling apart by now, but at least it had _chairs._

But chairs, he reminds himself, are not enough to make dealing with everything else that might come with the Hatake estate worth it. There are old wounds there, one’s he’d prefer not to revisit anytime soon. And on top of that, there would be the responsibility, the implicit acceptance of his status as head of household. He’s not quite ready for that, yet, either.

The easiest thing would be to call Tenzō – he’s seen him create houses from nothing on more missions than he can count, suspects that he enjoys it, even. He’s watched Tenzō poring over architecture books that would put him to sleep in a heartbeat long into the night, fallen asleep to the sound of turning pages and lightly sketched notes.

But he’d promised himself when he left that he would let Tenzō reach out first; that he’d let him find his legs. He doesn’t want Tenzō to feel like he’s being smothered, even if he feels his absence so deeply it’s like part of him has been carved away.

So he just ignores it, ignores everything, keeps his clothes neatly folded in a box and sets the picture of his genin team on the floor next to his bed. There’s no point to decorating, anyways. Even out of ANBU, much of his time is spent on missions, and over time he’s done enough damage to his friendships that it seems unlikely anyone will be visiting soon.

He doesn’t need anything that feels like _home,_ he reasons, just somewhere to sleep. It’s fine that he keeps his books in a pile against the wall. It’s fine that the only thing he’s really unpacked is his weaponry, turning his closet into a small armory. Everything’s fine, he’s been through worse, there’s no reason an empty apartment should cause him any trouble. It’s _fine_ —

It’s like half of him is still in ANBU, still used to the grueling missions and gallows humor and camaraderie, and the other half is stepping back tentatively into the light, blinking furiously. Like everyone around him already knows what they’re supposed to be doing, have built lives and routines and with a single step he’s dislodged himself. Like there’s nowhere left for him to fit.

 

(Tenzō tries to give him space, he really does.

He sees him a few times – at the market, once in the Hokage’s office. It’s hard to tell, in those brief moments, if Kakashi is any better, if any of that terrible weight has been lifted. There’s still a slump to his shoulders, a tightness in his face. When he fails his first genin team, Tenzō hears the rumors – harsh and unforgiving, they’d said, almost brutal – and winces at the thought of Kakashi using the full force of his ANBU training against a couple of pre-genin. Maybe Yugaō had been right to laugh.

Maybe he needs more time, he reasons, more room to breathe.

But there’s a nagging worry Tenzō can’t ignore, something deep in his gut telling him that giving Kakashi space isn’t what he should be doing, and even though he feels a little ridiculous knocking on Kakashi’s door in the middle of the afternoon, the anxiety lessens when Kakashi opens the door and seems genuinely pleased to see him.

Still, his apartment is sparse.

“Senpai,” Tenzō says, looking around, “this is a little sad. How many months has it been? Do you even own a table? Where do you eat, standing over the sink?”

Kakashi looks away guiltily, and Tenzō knows he’s caught him. He frowns.

“We are going to fix this right now. You might be happy to eat on the floor like one of your ninken but I absolutely will not.”

“Bossy, Tenzō,” Kakashi says, pouting, but his tone is lighter than Tenzō remembers hearing in ages. If it takes Tenzō being bossy— well, letting Kakashi give him a hard time isn’t anything new.

They spend the afternoon working – Tenzō making furniture, Kakashi shooting down his designs just to be difficult – until finally, as the sun sets, the apartment starts to resemble something other than an empty box.

“There,” Tenzō finally says, straightening and wiping the thin sheen of sweat off his forehead. “That’s better.”

Kakashi is lounging on his newly-created futon, having pulled a mattress from somewhere while Tenzō was working. “Oh, this is much better, Tenzō, I don’t know what I would have done without you. It’s too bad you couldn’t come by sooner.”

With a jolt, Tenzō looks over at him; sees the moment Kakashi tries to school his expression into something less amused – but it’s too late, he sees Kakashi’s satisfied smirk all too clearly.

“Kakashi,” he starts, “don’t tell me you’ve been living like a monk all this time just because you wanted me to make some furniture for you.”

“Please, Tenzō.” Kakashi sounds so hurt that Tenzō almost feels bad for his accusation, until— “I would never tell you that.”

The new futon sends Kakashi flying.

 

 

“Dinner?” Kakashi asks, once they’ve cleaned up the mess of his living room and Tenzō has guiltily restored the furniture to its previous condition.

“Kakashi, if you make me pay for dinner after this I will _murder_ you. I probably wouldn’t even feel bad about it.”)

 

 

They fall into an easy routine, after that. Ice broken, Tenzō seems to have abandoned any qualms about seeing Kakashi – it starts off with dinner, once a week, and then twice. Tenzō is good company, comfortable to be around. Familiar. Kakashi kicks himself for not asking him over sooner.

He starts staying after dinner occasionally, bringing movies that somehow seem more in line with Kakashi’s interests than his own, or taking up on one corner of Kakashi’s couch with a scroll, reading late into the night.

Kakashi isn’t sure when things start to shift, can’t tell exactly what throws him off balance. Maybe it’s that first night that Tenzō fights him for the last piece of fish, laughing brightly when it falls on the floor and Pakkun snatches it up—

It could be one of the countless times they bump up against one another in his tiny kitchen as they do the dishes, Tenzō humming something under his breath—

Or sitting on his roof watching fireworks as the new year begins, transfixed by the way the light dances across Tenzō’s face and the way he turns to Kakashi, beaming—

It might be when Kakashi tells him, still half-believing, that he’s passed a genin team for the first time, and Tenzō smiles so softly and says “don’t worry, you’ll do fine - great, even” and looks so convinced that Kakashi almost believes him—

Or possibly when he wakes up in the morning to find Tenzō still asleep on the couch, scroll over his face, and he grumbles when Kakashi drapes a blanket over him—

Maybe when Kakashi times the punchline of his story about Naruto perfectly and catches Tenzō so off guard that sake comes out his nose, and it sets them both off until Kakashi’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts and neither of them can remember what was so funny in the first place—

It could be when Tenzō comes with him to the stone for the first time, and greets Rin and Obito and Minato so respectfully Kakashi has to look away while he blinks back the stinging in his eyes—

Or when Tenzō patches him up after another mishap with Tora and very politely doesn’t laugh at him for being bested by a spoiled cat (even if Kakashi sees the corners of his mouth twitch up when he thinks Kakashi isn’t looking)—

Kakashi isn’t sure which moment is _the_ moment, not sure if there’s a specific instant things changed or if it’s been a gradual thing, so slow he didn’t notice until it had already happened. But somewhere along the way Tenzō has neatly slotted himself into his life. He finds he doesn’t mind all that much.

It’s—

Nice, Kakashi realizes one night, when they’re curled up on his couch watching some terrible period drama about the history of shinobi. At some point Tenzō leans sleepily against his side, and Kakashi finds himself trying not to completely freeze up at the soft pressure.

“That’s not realistic at all, Tenzō, look at his form – I can’t believe you’re making me watch this, it’s an insult to the legacy of Hashirama. If only he’d known what people these days think of the founding of Konoha—”

Next to him, Tenzō snorts. “Oh, come on, Kakashi – surely it’s no worse than your historical romances. I highly doubt those are accurate to shinobi history.”

Kakashi sniffs. “I’ll have you know those are highly researched and sourced; the author takes authenticity _very_ seriously in all aspects of his writing—”

He’s cut off when Tenzō groans and hit him with a pillow. “Eugh, never mind, forget I brought it up, I don’t want to know.”

Kakashi pouts at that, just a bit, and is rewarded with Tenzō’s soft laughter, muffled in his shoulder, and when he looks over Tenzō is smiling so warmly that the only thing Kakashi can think to do is lean over and—

 

(Kissing him feels like coming home, like the easiest thing in the world.

Tenzō is surprised when Kakashi tilts his chin up - but only for a moment, because they’ve been moving towards this for as long as he can remember, years of quiet attraction playing out at a glacial pace.

So he smiles against Kakashi’s mouth and twists his fingers through Kakashi’s hair and when Kakashi draws back, flushed and a little disbelieving, to ask “are you sure..? Your sou—” Tenzō cuts him off with another kiss and thinks Kakashi has probably gotten the message.)

 

They very carefully don’t acknowledge the shift, after that, both uncomfortably aware of the impermanence of shinobi life even as they become ingrained in one another’s routines.

Still, Kakashi notes blearily through the haze of chakra exhaustion, there’s something special in the way Tenzō chews him out for ending up in the hospital again, how he paces anxiously at the foot of his bed. Nobody’s done that for him since he was a genin; he wonders if it means something.

He’s on the verge of falling asleep, but he thinks Tenzō is saying something about Team 7, about a temporary stint as team leader – but it’s too far away. The last thing he registers is Tenzō’s deep sigh as he takes a seat at the side of his bed, and the gentle pressure of fingers wrapping around his own.

 

(When Kakashi wakes up again he’s less frighteningly pale, and certainly more alert – but Tenzō can see him drifting off again as he fills him in.

“This is your fault, you know,” he gripes, “I’m not cut out to lead your team, they’re only going to be suspicious of me. And on top of all that I have to move out of the ANBU barracks, now—you’ve made a lot of work for me, senpai.”

He’s whining, he knows, but Kakashi grins sleepily under his mask so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

“You’ll do fine, Tenzō, don’t worry. They’ll like you for your punctuality if nothing else,” Kakashi says, fixing him with a fond smile. “Ahh, it’s too bad I’m cooped up here – I’d have liked to see them meet you.”

Tenzō just hums, unconvinced, and gives Kakashi’s hand one last squeeze before he stands to leave.

“You could always just stay with me, you know,” Kakashi says through a yawn.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tenzō starts, “your place is tiny, Kakashi, you only have one bedroom.”

“And? What’s your point?” Kakashi asks blithely, eyes fluttering shut. “I thought maybe we could share.”

Tenzō’s heart does something strange at that, and he freezes, caught by surprise. Kakashi asking him to move in – if that’s what this is – seems unlikely, seems too much like a concrete acknowledgement of something that, so far, they’ve been unable (or unwilling) to put into words.

“You don’t mean that, Kakashi,” he says gently, “ask me again when you’re really awake.”)

 

Tenzō visits again the next day, just before Team 7 is about to leave. Kakashi wonders if maybe he’d dreamt their last conversation; if it did happen, Tenzō seems intent on avoiding the subject.

But he can’t let him leave without addressing it, now that he’s brought it up, so just as Tenzō reaches the door he calls after him—

“I did mean it, you know.”

Tenzō’s hand twitching where he’d rested it on the doorframe is the only sign he’s heard. He stands there, frozen, long enough that Kakashi’s just started to wonder if he’s made a mistake when Tenzō turns back to face him.

“Oh, alright,” Tenzō says, running a hand through his hair with a put-upon expression. “I suppose I could make a bunk bed.”

Kakashi’s momentary dismay must show on his face because Tenzō takes one look at him and bursts into laughter. When Kakashi weakly throws a pillow in his direction it only makes him laugh harder.

“You’re terrible, Tenzō, I hope you know that. Years of being your senpai and for this? Terrible. I’m hurt,” he says, pouting.

“Oh, don’t be,” Tenzō says, coming back to sit at the edge of the bed. “You know I’m only joking. If that’s really what you want—”

“It is,” Kakashi says, holding Tenzō’s gaze. “I— it is.”

Tenzō looks at him, hard, and even after all this time Kakashi can’t quite read him so it’s a relief when his smile is warm and sincere.

“I think I’d like that, too,” he says, and Kakashi swallows thickly, relieved.

“Good,” Kakashi says, and it’s still an effort to move his lethargic limbs but he manages it, lifting a hand to grip Tenzō’s. “Come home safe, hm?”

If Tenzō’s surprised to hear that he doesn’t show it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing the back of Kakashi’s fingers with something like reverence. “Home.”

 

(Predictably, the mission goes to hell.

Tenzō has all of five minutes to consider the idea of _home_ and _Kakashi_ meaning the same thing before he has to meet up with the rest of Team 7, five minutes that he spends leaning against the wall outside Kakashi’s hospital room, staring at the ceiling as if he might find an answer there.

He doesn’t, of course, and goes to meet his youthful charges just as dazed as he’d been when Kakashi _remembered._ Home—the concept is still hazy, a little unreal, so he puts it out of his mind, keeps it somewhere safe for further consideration.

Sai’s presence on the team throws everything off-balance almost immediately, and just when Tenzō thinks it’s starting to settle down _Orochimaru_ turns up, which he’s prepared for in an abstract sort of way until he’s confronted with the same awful face that’s been lurking in his nightmares for as long as he can remember.

Naruto loses control, Sakura gets hurt, and Sai disappears to who knows where – even with years of ANBU experience, Tenzō is having a hard time keeping up.

It’s a disaster, but Tenzō thinks he can salvage it up until he feels the tip of Sasuke’s chakra-enhanced blade pierce his shoulder, and—

Oh, he realizes, _home_ feels suddenly very far away, like it’s slipping from his grasp.

There’s a buzzing in his ears so he can only partially hear Sakura trying to say something about a new procedure for notifying soulmates; he tries to tell her not to bother but can’t tell if the words make it past his mouth.

The last thing he feels before his vision goes dark is a brushstroke, ink wet against his skin.)

 

Kakashi wakes to a gentle pressure on his forearm; almost ticklish for how light it is.

But when he opens his eyes, there’s no one – no nurse checking his pulse or fiddling with the sheets, just the afternoon sun streaming through the window and the clicking of the fan overhead.

Strange, he thinks, he could have sworn he felt—

It happens again, and this time he’s awake enough to register the series of quick brushstrokes near his wrist.

His heart is pounding, suddenly, throat dry as he strains to lift his arm, still heavy with exhaustion. But there, on his wrist – writing.

Kakashi closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. It can’t – it shouldn’t be _possible._

But when he looks again the writing is still there, blue ink glaring up at him.

The handwriting is familiar, he realizes, but in the confusion he can’t place it – nothing about this makes _sense._ He forces himself to read the note.

_En route to hospital. Mission injury severe but stable. ETA 1hr. -S. Haruno on behalf of Capt. Yamato_

All of the words register individually but there’s still a block, something he can’t put together. Something about Sakura, and the mission, and the people there—

It hits him, then, a fragment of conversation that comes back in a rush – “you have to call me Yamato in front of them, senpai. They don’t know it’s a code name, I’m serious,” Tenzō had said, sitting next to the bed. Kakashi had only been half-listening, more intent on trying to will Tenzō’s hand close enough that he could hook their fingers together—

But if he’s—

If Tenzō—

The block is still there. Even with all the facts, even with his sudden realization, it doesn’t register, it’s not real.

Tenzō. Yamato. His soulmate.

Kakashi lets his hand drop to cover his face with a weak huff, pressing the back of his hand to Obito’s suddenly aching eye and unsure if the sound coming from his mouth is laugher or a pained cry.

 

(Tenzō wakes up all at once, but it takes a moment for his senses to return; he gradually becomes aware of the numbness in his shoulder and the heat of someone’s hands tangled with his.

He must make some type of noise, because all at once Kakashi comes into his field of vision, face pale and deep shadows under his eyes.

“Hey,” Kakashi’s voice is rough as he smooths a thumb over Tenzō’s cheek. “I thought I told you to come home safe.”

“Mm,” Tenzō thinks, fighting through his foggy memories, “yeah. You did. ‘m sorry.”

Kakashi sighs. “Well. You came home – that’s the important part, in the end.”

He’s fidgety, Tenzō realizes as Kakashi helps him drink and sits with him as he wakes up more fully, can’t seem to stop the nervous tapping of his fingers. Something happened, while he was gone. Something that’s making Kakashi anxious.

He clears his throat, and when Kakashi glances up Tenzō looks pointedly at his fingers, still drumming against the bed.

“What is it?” Kakashi freezes, caught.

“Tenzō,” he starts, halting, and his voice is suddenly serious, almost formal. “I—well. There’s—something ridiculous, I think, that’s happened. You might be upset and that’s—I would understand.”

Ominous, Tenzō thinks, and when Kakashi smiles, quick and humorless, he realizes he’s said it out loud.

“It’s—I don’t know what to do other than show you,” Kakashi says, reaching for a small package on the table next to his bed.

It’s ink, Tenzō realizes with a start.

“Kakashi,” he cautions, “We’ve talked about this—I don’t need to know, I don’t want to anymore—”

“I know,” Kakashi says, “but— _I_ need you to know, Tenzō.”)

 

Kakashi winces at the desperation creeping into Tenzō’s tone, but doesn’t stop until he’s scrawled out a familiar henohenomoheji on Tenzō’s cheek.

As he writes he can feel the familiar phantom brushstrokes against his own cheek, hears Tenzō’s protest fade away to nothing.

Tenzō’s face goes completely blank for just a moment before cycling through emotions in rapid succession – confusion, understanding, disbelief, confusion again. Kakashi holds his breath.

“Oh,” Tenzō says, whisper-soft. His eyes haven’t moved from Kakashi’s cheek, and he’s brought his own hand up to feel the still-wet writing on his own skin. _"Oh.”_

And there’s nothing Kakashi can say to that, really.

“All this time,” Tenzō says, breath catching in his throat, “all this time, and you thought—we both—”

“It wasn’t—” Kakashi starts, but Tenzō cuts him off.

“Don’t you dare say it wasn’t so long, or so bad, Kakashi. Don’t lie to me.”

“I know—I’m sorry, Tenzō, I don’t know how—"

Tenzō makes a choked noise that Kakashi can’t decipher. He’s still frozen, waiting for some indication of whether Tenzō will stand to be around him, whether he’ll ask him to leave. It would be fair of him to need space, Kakashi reasons, and he had promised understanding. But that won’t make it any easier, if Tenzō does decide he needs him gone.

“You were right,” Tenzō says weakly, startling Kakashi from his thoughts. “It’s—it’s ridiculous. Unbelievable, almost.”

“Tenzō,” Kakashi starts, nervously meeting his gaze, “I can—I understand if you want me to go.”

“Come here.” It’s more of an order than a request, Kakashi thinks as he complies. He still can’t tell what Tenzō’s thinking.

“Sit,” he says, and Kakashi does, perching delicately on the side of the bed. He’s knocked off balance almost immediately when Tenzō uses his shirt to haul himself up.

“Tenzō, what—your _shoulder,_ what are you _doing?_ ” Kakashi stutters, caught off guard. Tenzō ignores him and the next thing Kakashi registers is a lopsided hug, Tenzō’s good arm looped around his back.

“Ridiculous,” Tenzō mutters again, into his shoulder. “Unbelievable.”

Carefully, Kakashi brings his arms up around him.

“Don’t you even think about going anywhere, you idiot,” Tenzō says, and Kakashi lets go of the breath he’s been holding, all the air rushing out of him at once. “Don’t you dare.”

“Okay,” he says, dazed. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Even before, I knew how I felt about you, that I—well.” Tenzō pauses, struggling for words. “It hasn’t changed, with this. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Kakashi says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “That’s—yeah. That’s good. I mean, I’m glad. I was. Worried.”

Tenzō snorts against his shoulder. “Eloquent, Kakashi,” he says, but when Kakashi dares to look at him he’s smiling, and when he presses a kiss against Tenzō’s temple he leans forward, resting against Kakashi’s chest until his breathing slows and he slips back into sleep.

 

(Tenzō does make a bunk bed, when he finally moves in; but only for a moment, and only because he wants to see the look on Kakashi’s face. He isn’t disappointed.

The ink pot stays wrapped up, gathering dust next to plants and picture frames.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like later on tenz is like. wait i basically confessed my love for you and you just said “yeah” what was up with that and kks is like. wow u know what babe i just remembered i gotta train with the kids today and i'm actually already late ok talk to you later bye~
> 
> thanks for sticking with me on this one! it's been fun to play around with a trope like this :) hope you enjoyed!


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